


Pulling Pigtails

by nix_this



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Coulson will fuck your shit up, Hatesex, M/M, Plot What Plot, Smut, Snark, So Much Snark, Tony Fucking Stark, handjobs are awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nix_this/pseuds/nix_this
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony shouldn't know the new season of Supernanny starts this week, but he does. Because Coulson is an ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Pigtails

The new season of Supernanny starts this week. Tony shouldn't know this. Tony _hates_ that he knows this. He's also a bit irritated that Fury authorized the breach into Stark Industries security to hack Tony's phone and override his banned callers list just so Agent Fucking Phil Coulson could email him the schedule.

Coulson hadn't even added anything else to the message, the cheeky little bastard. No hello, or even a threatening allusion to his tazer that Tony would invariably turn into innuendo, which would again have him hauled in front of Fury regarding his 'inappropriate comments made to SHIELD staff while they were on duty'. To which Tony would retaliate with Coulson's 'inappropriate threats made to a Civilian all the fucking time', leading Fury to twitch at him in that endearingly furious way. Tony knows Ol' Nick has a soft spot for him; he can totally recognize when someone's being an ass to him for his own good. He just chooses to ignore it. Most of the time. But still, the resultant fight would end with Tony kicked off the premises, again, and he'd be free to fly out of the bullshit meeting and go do something _useful_.

Huh.

Coulson is getting _sneakier_. The bastard.

Tony really hates it when people get used to him.

(Unless they're Pepper, of course. She knows him better than he knows himself, always has. It's probably why they didn't work out... and he's fine with that. Really.)

Anyone else tuning in to Tony's wavelengths–well, maybe Rhodey too, but that's _it_ –tends to make him want to do potentially reckless things just to _prove them wrong_. (See his Wikipedia page for details. Or, really, any tabloid archive. And most major newsfeeds.)

But, yeah, reckless things... like arriving early enough for a meeting to hack into SHIELD's servers and trace the location of one Agent Fucking Phil Coulson. He adds the 'Fucking' to the official dossier, because hey, why not? He'd suspected SHIELD tracked their agents like puppies, having proof just means he has something more to needle Coulson with as soon as he catches up to him, which will apparently be in the gym area on the lower level of the headquarters. He doesn't bother wiping his digital fingerprints–Fury will be annoyed, and after the inevitable lecture, Stark industries will be awarded yet another lucrative government contract to beef up SHIELD's security.

Two birds, one stone. It's like he's a _genius_ or something.

Lips twitching in anticipatory glee–which is classier than rubbing his hands together and cackling–Tony forces the system to accept his consultant's access card and overrides everything but emergency access to guarantee privacy. He breezes into the gym, heading for the back from where the faint sounds of exertion carry. Coulson's probably doing yoga, or on the treadmill running imaginary laps like a gerbil. Tony's seen the suit, he knows a good cut can disguise any number of soft places.

So, he's a bit _stunned_ when he sees a sweaty Coulson working over the punching bag like it spit on his mother and owes him money. Apparently SHIELD-sponsored tailors design their suits to camouflage six-packs as well as potential kegs, while Coulson's fitted tank top, soaked with sweat, conceals neither.

And, that's just not fair. Tony would like to think he's cornered the market on the whole sexy despite personality schtick.

"Hey Coulson," he calls out, because if he's talking, it looks less like he's just staring. This is called _thinking ahead_ , which he is fully capable of doing because he's a genius, no matter what Pepper was yelling at him last week. Getting caught staring at _Coulson_ would... Jesus, if Tony hadn't been immune to the worst things his brain could do to him–like suddenly picturing Coulson all the way naked–he'd never get an erection again out of severe mental trauma for the thoughts he is absolutely not entertaining, even for a second. He deposits his briefcase along the wall by Coulson's battered duffle bag and saunters over to the mat. "Did Fury finally let you off your leash, or is this the SHIELD version of walkies?"

Coulson, being Coulson, and a jerk about it, ignores him until he finishes up his routine. He's pretty good, not Happy-level good, but he definitely has talents beyond being incredibly annoying. Surprise, surprise. And good for him, really, people should cultivate multiple skill sets. Tony tries to encourage that kind of personal growth in people who don't want to shoot him.

Coulson will probably use it to annoyingly punch Tony in the face _before_ shooting him. He's just that kind of an ass.

The ass in question wraps up his routine with a textbook feint-jab-uppercut combo, and backs away from the bag. He's already stripping his gloves off when he pretends to just now notice Tony is standing beside him.

"Hey Princess," he says. "Did you miss me?"

Tony scoffs. "You went somewhere?"

"That's classified."

Of course it was. "I could probably find out. Fury likes me."

"No, he doesn't."

"He does," Tony insists. "You can tell by the gleam in his eye when we're yelling at each other."

Coulson laughs, actually laughs, instead of that smug half-smile thing he's usually got creeping on his face. "He gets that same gleam when he authorizes me to use necessary force on you, you know."

"I guess he's kinkier than we knew then. That's actually... completely horrifying." Tony shudders. "I mean, it should've been obvious with the leather-daddy chic he's trying to pull off, but, ew. What happens if he tries to leather-dom me on SHIELD property? Do I have to submit or it's treason?"

"Also classified," Coulson says. "But if Fury does make a move on you, I'm pretty sure we're safe to assume alien imposter. Fury has taste."

"By that reasoning, half of the women in Manhattan are aliens," Tony says. "Face it Coulson, buddy, I am just that hot of a property. Fury's probably gagging for me."

"You're confused," Coulson says, moving for the towel he's got stashed on the bench. "Fury just wants to gag you." Tony watches the progress of the white terrycloth over Coulson's skin with the kind of intensity better reserved for the battlefield. He catches himself while Coulson's facing away and really, really hopes he didn't notice.

"We're looking into the alien thing, actually," Coulson tosses over his shoulder, mercifully oblivious to Tony's not-staring. "I'd tell you which of your–what's the proper etiquette for addressing an ex-one night stand?–' _lady_ -friends' is under investigation, but it's–"

"Classified." Tony snorts.

"Right," Coulson says. "See, you can pay attention to things other than your dick, your suit and your big boy angst. That was almost like pattern recognition."

Tony rolls his eyes. "You do know that I design half the shit you rely on to keep you alive in the field, right? That your life is literally in my hands when you're off fighting ninja aliens, or alien ninjas or whatever it is you people actually do when you're not hounding me."

Coulson sneers and walks up to Tony, tapping him dead-center in the chest. The tiny 'ping' when he connects with the arc reactor sounds unnaturally loud, echoing off the concrete walls. "And you do realize," he says, spitting out the words like a mouthful of shitty lager, "that the only reason you're still alive to keep me alive is because SHIELD intervened on your little suicide girl routine last year. How is the vibranium core working out for you anyway?"

Tony recoils from the touch and raises his eyebrows in surprise; apparently he's touched a nerve with Coulson. _Good_. He knows Coulson's an ass–see the Supernanny schedule on his fucking phone for proof–but that was... low. And he really, really needs to make the time to have a chat with Fury on just who is allowed access to the intimate details of the things that are keeping Tony _alive_. "I'd've figured something out," he says quickly, like speaking faster will dislodge the sudden bitterness catching in his throat. "It's not like you were even _there_ for that part, you just dropped off the fucking crate, made your threats and left me to it."

"What," Coulson snaps. "Did you feel abandoned, Princess? Was I supposed to come down to the lab and hold your hand while you figured your shit out? It's not like I don't have a job, you know? Things to do _besides_ babysitting a melodramatic asshole–"

"I was _dying_ ," Tony–all right, he yells it. He shoves at Coulson's hand on his chest and gets in his face. "I was dying and you assholes knew it, and you watched me deal with it and _then_ , when you needed me to clean up your fucking mess–"

" _Our_ mess?" Coulson says, incredulously. He grabs the front of Tony's shirt and hauls him forward, so close their foreheads almost collide. "You are un-fucking-believable, Stark! We called you, you ignored us!" He shakes Tony, actually shouting now, which is new. Coulson's not usually a shouter. "You were too busy being a fucking security risk every time you stepped outside. Parading your armour and identity in front of the press, grandstanding in a Senate hearing, _privatizing World fucking Peace_ –"

Tony's not sure why he does it, really. Yeah, Coulson's suddenly leveled up in hot, and maybe he's yelling things that Tony doesn't really need to hear ever again–he knows, damn it, _he knows_ how much of a fuck up he is–and Tony's pretty much willing to do anything to shut him up. Maybe he thinks it'll make Coulson really lose it and swing the first punch and then they can knock each other around the gym until Tony gains back the ground he seems to be losing in the pissing match that comprises their relationship.

Or, maybe he just wants to.

Whatever the reason, he kisses Coulson. Grabs him by the hair and plants one on him mid-shout, swallowing whatever asshole accusation was going to follow the listing of Tony's mistakes and shoving his tongue halfway down Coulson's throat. He tastes like toothpaste and gatorade, which is kind of a gross combination, really, but it works for Tony right now.

He doesn't know what to think when Coulson starts _kissing him back_ though, beyond an abstract recognition of another surprising skill. Coulson is _good_ at this. He's aggressive and handsy, using just enough teeth to keep Tony from relaxing into it and taking over. His hands are working Tony's suit, loosening his tie with the same impressive efficiency he used on the bag and shoving Tony's jacket off his shoulders to get to his shirt. The glow of the arc reactor through Tony's undershirt is revealed with a few quick tugs on the buttons.

Tony presses closer, going for a handful of ass and squeezing tight. Coulson bites him, hard enough to make Tony bleed and juts his hips forward so Tony can feel the heat of his erection against his thigh. Tony's cock is, unsurprisingly, completely on board with this development.

Tony's cock is also a first-class _prick_ , but in this case he's inclined to go along with it.

He pulls away, panting. "Ok," he says, as he scrabbles for the edge of Coulson's undershirt and pulls at it. "Are we doing this? Yeah, it looks like we're doing this."

Coulson just grunts and tries to shrug out his tank top and divest Tony of his jacket and shirt in the same motion. Tony appreciates a man with ambition, but that's just poor planning. He helps out, tossing the jacket aside like it's off-the-rack instead of haute couture.

He reaches for Coulson's sweats, frustrated for a second–a nano-second, really–when he encounters the knot. There's really no reason for Coulson to swear at him and bat his hands away and take care of the ties himself. Except, now Coulson's stripping for him, and, ok, that works. Tony can get behind that. Maybe literally. He's almost the drooling mess Coulson's always dreamed of when the flash of a black logo catches his eye. "Wait, are you wearing SHIELD briefs? Are those SHIELD briefs? Oh, God, _they are_." Tony laughs, hard. "Couslon, you're _adorable_."

"Stark," Coulson grits out, shucking said briefs and standing, completely naked except for his socks, which should be ridiculous but he's pulling it off. Likely because he's packing the kind of heat that would give another man a complex, but Tony's confident that his is bigger. Mostly. "Either shut the fuck up and get naked, or get the fuck out so I can go shower."

Say what you will about Coulson–and by this point Tony's said pretty much everything–the man gives out options like he specialized in Ultimatums 101 at secret agent school. Tony _likes_ it. He likes it so much that he does that thing he never does and _stops talking_. At least long enough to get his pants off.

He has enough time to confirm that yes, his dick is bigger, before Coulson jumps him. Tony hits the mat hard, Coulson's weight and heat pinning him to the rough plastic.

"Good choice," Coulson says, smugly, of course, because he's probably been saving up his yearly quota of smug just for Tony. His mouth is back on Tony's before he can voice a retort and Tony decides that, in certain _specific_ situations, Coulson's unbearable pushiness is a good thing.

His hands roam Coulson's back, pressing and gliding and noting Coulson's reactions and adjusting the pressure accordingly. Coulson's skin is warm, still a bit sweat-tacky from his workout and Tony approves of the hard strength in Coulson's shoulders. He lingers a moment, flexing into the muscles, before he slides his hands down and rakes his nails over Coulson's spine.

Coulson swears into his mouth when Tony digs his fingers into his hips and aligns their cocks.

"You like that?" Tony asks, wriggling and repositioning so the angle is optimal. "Yeah, you like that. Shit, Coulson, who'd've thought you had it in you? 'Course everyone wants me, but unless you're pleading alien, top marks for initiative."

Coulson thrusts back, also smugly, and how does he _do_ that? "You kissed me, genius," he says, a little breathlessly. He tilts down and nips at Tony's neck, where the skin is still sensitive from the palladium poisoning. An unexpected bonus, but probably not marketable. Although, people do inject botulism into their _faces_ , so maybe– Another bite, harder this time, rips Tony away from his speculation. He arches into it and moans.

"You know what?" he asks, when he can breathe again. Coulson's ignoring him, worrying at the flesh over Tony's collarbone and circling his hips in quick, shallow thrusts. Tony rocks his hips and shifts his hands down to Coulson's ass. "I did kiss you, and–ok, yeah, that. That right there. _Nice_. But... yeah... I kissed you and I'm thinking that was a pretty good fucking call–"

Coulson lifts his head from Tony's chest, where he's sucking what will probably be a very impressive hickey in a couple of hours, just above the arc reactor. His hand worms its way between their bodies and stops, barely brushing Tony's cock. He stills and says, "Tony?"

"Yeah?" Tony grinds his hips up, an attempt to get Coulson to resume the rhythm, or jack him, or anything, really. Moving is good. Coulson should totally get on with that.

Coulson closes his hand around Tony's dick and squeezes. Once. "Shut up."

"Ok," Tony breathes, mentally upgrading Coulson to a fucking _PhD_ in Ultimatumology. Coulson strokes him, too fast to be gentle, but not rough enough to hurt. He can feel the gun calluses on Coulson's fingers sliding over his shaft, and it's _amazing_. Tony decides to encourage this development by fucking into Coulson's fist and gasping out his moans against Coulson's lips and teeth.

Coulson hums his approval into Tony's mouth and he works his hand faster, sliding up over the head of Tony's cock to catch the precome at the tip, using it to smooth out the motion. He grinds against Tony's thigh in controlled thrusts–too controlled, really, at least until Tony edges a finger between his cheeks and starts rubbing at his hole. He clenches and his rhythm stutters and he has to wrench away from kissing Tony to settle himself.

Tony doesn't try very hard to contain his own smugness, or his smirk. Coulson's eyes narrow when he catches it and the hand on Tony's dick shifts from steady to urgent in retaliation.

To this point Tony's been behaving himself. He shut up when Coulson asked him to and he didn't jockey for dominance when Coulson toppled him, but he'll be damned if Coulson's going to make him come first. He teases the tip of his finger over Coulson's rim and slides his other hand around Coulson's hip to take hold of his cock, twisting his wrist as he pulls up and laughing when Coulson's eyes roll up inside his head.

"Jesus Christ, Stark," Coulson snarls and that's just as good as--no it's _better_ than--a breathy moan. It sounds like victory. "You are... such... an... _Asshole_."

"Love you too, baby," Tony says. He picks up Coulson's rhythm and improves on it, because that's what engineers _do_. He ignores the rush of heat that's building at the base of his spine and in his gut, like he does when his body's clamoring for things like _sleep_ and _food_ when he's riding a wave of genius. He pumps his fist over Coulson's dick faster, tightening his hold in increments until he hears Coulson's breath hitch and feels the increasing unsteadiness of his jerking hips. Coulson's close, any second now. He's shaking with it.

Tony, however, neglects to consider that Coulson cheats. He feels the first pulse of Coulson's orgasm just as the bastard leans down and finds that spot on his neck and bites, with just the right amount of force to loose all of Tony's self-control. He comes with a shocked shout, the white-noise static of too much pleasure shutting down his higher brain functions and motor control as he thrusts sloppily into Coulson's hand, spilling out in bursts that coat his stomach and their hands in a hot, wet mess.

A tie, then.

Tony can live with that.

Coulson collapses on him, still shuddering, and laughs. "Jesus, Stark," he says, all breathless and covered in beard burn. Fury's probably going to be pissed. At _Tony_. "I can practically hear you thinking from here. Relax."

Tony shuffles him off and stays down, and not just because he's reasonably certain his legs won't quite support him yet. He trails a finger through the mess cooling on his stomach and waits for his brain to come back online.

"If I'd known this is what it took to shut you up," Coulson says, amusement warming his voice from deadpan to wry. "I'd've jumped you two years ago." He reaches somewhere above his head and hands Tony the towel.

Tony takes it, wipes at the splatters of come and sweat on his skin. "So," he says, at a bit of a loss on how to deal with the new naked-and-sweaty aspect to their relationship. Not that he's complaining, he feels good, great even, but he's used to knowing where he stands with Coulson. "I guess this means you _don't_ want to taze me and watch Supernanny anymore?"

Coulson chuckles. "Are you asking me to date you, Stark?"

 _What_? Tony gapes, then shuts his mouth with a decisive click. Then opens it again. "How the fuck did you get there from 'don't taze me, bro?'" he asks. "Do they, like, give you something when they're handing out SHIELD briefs that scrambles your receptors? Or should I be wondering how many times you've taken the SHIELD sensitivity training? I just figured that, since we, you know–" Tony gestures, taking in the walls, the plastic mat they've probably destroyed and their mostly naked bodies with a sweep of his arm.

"Fucked like bunnies in the SHIELD recreation area?" Coulson offers (should he be Phil now? No, still Coulson, though calling him Fucking Coulson just got a lot funnier). He gets up to find his pants, slips them on. He doesn't bother with the SHIELD issue tightie-whities, which is a shame. Tony isn't ready to be done mocking him about those quite yet. Or ever.

"Yeah, that. I just thought since we did the whole bunnies on the gym floor thing, your tazing beast must be soothed or something. Do you think that would work on the Hulk? Fuck the fury out of him? Or, you know, the Fury–"

"No. Don't even," Coulson blinks a couple of times and Tony swears he can actually see him repressing the mental images before they do permanent damage. Neat trick, that. "Look," he says, shrugging into the sensible white button-up he'd retrieved from his bag. "I still _want_ to taze you, unless you've stopped being an asshole by the power of my cock, in which case I'm due for a promotion." He waits a beat before asking: "Are you still an asshole?"

Tony thinks about it for a full second. "Probably."

"Then, the tazing is a go. If I need to taze you, I will taze the fuck out of you. With prejudice. But," Coulson pauses, that tiny half-smile thing cracking his mask of sober professionalism. Tony's vaguely horrified to realize he no longer finds it creepy. He blames the endorphins. "I guess I could grab you a blanket or something when you're drooling on the floor."

"I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me." Sadly, it really is. Tony gets up to find his own pants, and yeah, wow, Armani really doesn't hold up against being pawed by an aroused agent of SHIELD. He wonders if he should have Pepper write them a letter.

"I was nice when I met you, then I got to know you."

Tony relaxes at the insult and laughs. They're bickering, they're _fine_. He doesn't even try to analyze his relief. "I get that a lot."

Coulson snorts. "Obviously."

"You're a bit of an asshole too, you know," Tony points out. "As long as we're airing grievances, or whatever."

"I know." Coulson's smile widens.

"So does this mean we're going steady? Cause I'm not so great at the commitment thing and–"

"Jesus, Stark," Coulson sighs. "Do you ever stop?"

"That's a no, then? Or is it a yes, cause I gotta be honest, I'm really–"

Coulson throws Tony's shirt at him. He gets points for not laughing when it hits Tony in the face. "Get dressed," he says. "As far as I'm concerned, this was a one-off. Don't worry about it, don't think about it. Chalk it up to the heat of the moment."

"Ok," Tony says. "So, just sex then?"

"Right," Coulson says. "Just sex."

And it is. Every time.

Mostly.

 _End_

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Gadgetorious who took me at my word when I said I liked it rough and totally Coulsoned this thing into coherence. Thank you so much, bb!  
> Written for this [amazing prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/1854.html?thread=405310) on the avengerkink comm at lj. Coulson/Tony hatesex? YES.


End file.
